


Like Memories of Dying Days

by Anthrobrat



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Lesbian Character, Multi, Mutual Pining, fem!Liebgott, fem!Luz, fem!Webster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anthrobrat/pseuds/Anthrobrat
Summary: Daria Kenyon Webster had finally made it, and for the first time in her life she felt a modicum of pride in her own accomplishments. She was prepared to work her ass off to produce a top-notch dissertation and then hopefully end up taking Dr. Sobel’s place as the foremost German Comparative Literature professor at Harvard. Or Yale. She supposed any Ivy League would do. But first, she had to figure out what to make of the brash, outspoken third year archaeologist by the name of Josephine Liebgott. This anomaly of a girl just might hold the secrets to Daria's universe. Or she just might crush her.Basically, I spent a day listening to "Savior" By Rise Against while my mind plotted out this whole story of lesbian grad student Webgott, and I'm honestly not sure how I got from there to here.
Relationships: George Luz/Joseph Toye, Joseph Liebgott/David Kenyon Webster, Lewis Nixon/Richard Winters, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	1. It kills me not to know things

**Author's Note:**

> So much love to @mariamegale and @gottapenny (dickjokesanddoilies) without whose support and inspiration I would probably still be sitting with a blank page.
> 
> ((These characters are gender bent representations of fictional HBO characters, and I have the utmost respect for the real gentlemen of Easy Co and the 101st.)

Daria Kenyon Webster was trying to present a confident front when she walked into the graduate student welcome party, but inside she felt like she might actually puke. This program had been her dream for the last two years of the mandatory Harvard Undergraduate Experience that her father had bought and paid for. 

Not saying that she didn’t earn her spot at Harvard as much as she possibly could have as a multi-generation legacy with boatloads of connections, but she never felt like it was hers. 

This UC Santa Barbara Germanic Languages Comp Lit program? This was all hers. She had worked her ass off to get here, gaining experience as a research assistant during the summers and her senior year, writing a senior thesis on the use of imagery in Henrich Heine’s romantic poetry, and maintaining a so-close-to-perfect-it-hurts 3.9 GPA (No really, thank you Professor Sobel for that god forsaken A- in WWII era German Literature. Prick).

She had made it here, and for the first time in her life she felt a modicum of pride in her own accomplishment. She was prepared to work her ass off to produce a top-notch dissertation and then hopefully end up taking Sobel’s place as the foremost German Comparative Literature professor at Harvard. Or Yale. She supposed any Ivy League would do. 

First, though, she had to get through this party. Dr. Sink, her advisor, had emailed her and in no uncertain terms had basically referred to this party as “slightly less than mandatory.” Networking was important, and free wine and tiny hors d’oeuvres were certainly not a hardship, so here she found herself. 

The only downfall was that no one had told her what the dress code would be, and since this was California she was very much out of her element. Parties at Harvard were easy - black dress, black heels, black, grey, or red (if she was feeling spicy) blazer. The West Coast, however, felt like it was a whole different vibe. For instance, the girl walking in next to her was wearing old, dirty, ripped jeans and combat boots, and maybe hadn’t brushed her hair in a few days. The messy braid looked slept in. Cute, she thought, as she fixed her own curls one more time and walked into the hall. 

No more than 30 seconds after clearing the doorway did she hear “Daria!” in the singular voice that was Dr. Sink, her potential advisor. He was incredibly outwardly intimidating but actually quite the marshmallow. He seemed to share Daria’s hatred of small talk, skipping over it in search of the more profound answers to life’s questions. Today, apparently, was different, as the first thing he did was engage Daria in the painfully quotidian practice of introductions. 

“Have you met Georgina Luz?” Sink began. “She’s over in the English Department studying modern popular literature. Georgina, this is Daria Webster. She’s one of those Harvard grads.” 

Eventually that title might stop sounding so fucking patronizing, but this was not that moment. He smiled and nodded when Georgina put out her hand and then walked away from the two. 

Did he think Daria would prefer to chat to a modern lit graduate student than her own adviser? Was he already bored with her? More importantly, who leaves their brand new graduate student alone with a rando? Who does that? Graduate professors. Graduate professors do that. _Because you’re an adult now._

“Hi. People call me Georgie. Pleasure” the shorter brunette said as they shook hands. Daria noted the twinkle in her eye and thought _this girl is Trouble in the best way possible._

“I’m Daria, pleasure to meet you.”

“My partner’s around here somewhere, hold on I’ll introduce you.” Daria stayed where she was, because more potential friends were good, and she was already sick of her own company. She’d spent the last four days sitting in her apartment by herself ordering takeout from the various menus that the apartment complex provided. Her thoughts were shattered by Georgie’s shout across the room. 

“Joey! Joey get over here and meet one of the new recruits in the German Lit program!” Joey rolled his eyes from the bar across the room and _swaggered_ over to them. Daria was struck by her absolute inability to use a different word for the way this man moved. It was all confidence and self-assured hubris, and, honestly, downright hot. The kind of movement one might write sketchy poetry about. 

“Daria, this is Joey, my partner. He isn’t here in a professional capacity, so don’t worry about impressing him.”

“Really Luz? That’s how we’re gonna play this? I’m Joe.” He kept his eyes on his girlfriend as he reached out to shake Daria’s hand.

“Hello, nice to meet you. If you’re not a graduate student, then what exactly do you do?”

“One of those, I see. There is a whole wide world outside of academia, ya know.” He said with an eye roll pointed surprisingly not at Daria but at Georgie. “I work as a mechanic and manage a garage downtown.”

Joe seemed nice, as did Georgie, and Daria was excited to make new friends. She bullshitted her way through the small talk, and then got into a rousing debate with Georgie about the intellectual importance of Marvel Comics. Although they seemed to be arguing, Daria considered they might actually agree with one another, but this was grad school and they were all nothing if not spoiling to show off their vocabularies. 

Joe’s eyes glazed over at the mention of intersectionality during the silver age, but jumped in with his vast knowledge of every single Stan Lee cameo in every single movie. The conversation was thrilling in a way that not many had been back home. 

When the profile of her elusive advisor peaked out of the crowd, she begged off, but not before exchanging numbers with Georgie, “we should hang at some point” Luz and Joe “we’ll introduce you to The Guys” Toye. 

When Daria finally caught up to Professor Sink, she launched into a discussion about her upcoming classes and what to expect this semester being his TA/RA. Three sentences in, she could tell he was avoiding all “shop talk” until their meeting on Tuesday, but she was worried she might not sleep until she knew, and it was Friday, and going four days without sleep seemed imprudent in her first week of graduate school. 

So she pushed, and just as he was about to crack and provide her the relevant information, she was overpowered by a crowd of professors and graduate students from the foreign language departments coming to congratulate Sink on his new article. After a round of congratulations, Sink turned to Daria and introduced her to the group. 

She was starting to worry that he thought of her as no more than a clever way of getting himself out of conversations. Like a rousing game of _Have you Met Daria?_ She didn’t know for sure, but it felt infuriating. It was something her father used to do. She bit her tongue.

“Daria is our newest grad student. Studied under Sobel at Harvard. Wrote her senior thesis on Heine.” He seemed to revel in her connections, and positively beamed this information at the others in the group. Literally no one seemed impressed, which bothered and delighted her. 

“Oh! Please! Give us a little something! Poetry sounds so beautiful in German, wouldn’t you say Dr.Sink?” This from an older woman who seems to have had one wine too many and was holding onto Dr. Strayer’s arm like she would otherwise fall over. _This woman is trying too hard to appear sober. Whatever._

“That actually might be nice. Do you have anything in your repertoire that you care to share?” asked Sink, eyebrow quirked. _My god, he is really going to make me do this?_ It felt a little like a game of chicken, like a game that somehow her career hinged on her not fucking up. One which she did not plan to lose. 

The only problem was that she couldn’t tell whether the dare was to recite the poem or to refuse on the grounds of pretension. Daria started to recite her favorite Heine poem:

“Sie liebten sich beide, doch keiner  
Wollt es dem andern gestehn;  
Sie sahen sich an so feindlich,  
Und wollten vor Liebe vergehn.”

“Bist du nicht schlau?” Oozed an unknown voice from behind her. “But I prefer von Goethe. Du bist mein und bist so zierlich, du bist mein und so manierlich, aber etwas fehlt dir noch…” 

Daria looked up at this girl, the girl who walked in with her. She still wore the messy braid that was unraveling more by the minute and spoke German like a 19th century peasant. Her perfectly sanguine lips poured out naughty German poetry before twisting into something just this side of a sneer. Then, the girl that just showed her up in front of her advisor caught Daria’s eye and she suddenly found her hands clammy. This girl was beautiful. 

“I’m sorry, are you from the German Department?” Professor Sink asked Mystery Girl. 

“Who? Me? God no! I’m over in the Anthropology Department under Professor Horton. Although you can ask Walter,” she said as she pointed at the older graduate student standing across from them, “he’ll vouch for me. I sit in on his classes in October to brush up before I go home for Thanksgiving with my Bubbe. She likes to discuss dirty German poetry from the turn of the 19th century.” 

And then she winked. She fucking winked. “She’s a minx.”

Through this entire exchange Daria was staring, open-mouthed, at this absolute anomaly of a person. Who starts a conversation about erotic German poetry with a German Literature professor? She wanted to be mortified, but the anomaly was just standing here, completely at ease, making it impossible for people to feel anything but charmed. 

Clearly it was easy for her because this was not her department. Daria envied her. Then, Mysterious One turned more fully toward Daria and her eyes lit up a little more.

“Do you want to come get a drink at the bar?” Said The Anomaly. “I’m Jo, by the way. Josephine Liebgott.”

“I’m sorry, are you… are you talking to me?” Daria stumbled in reply.

“Yes, smarty pants. I’m talking to you. Do you want to go get a drink? Bar’s over there, and I noticed your hands are empty.” 

Daria was still confused as to why this Jo girl was speaking to her, after having rudely interrupted her possibly unwarranted poetry reading. Jo was clearly trying to back up toward the bar, but Daria couldn’t help but stand stock still and studiously not follow. She found herself vaguely uncomfortable in Jo’s presence, but didn’t want to let on that the girl unnerved her. Jo would probably take it as a compliment and Daria didn’t want to encourage her.

“You’re… your German is… where did you learn to speak German? It’s so… provincial.” That comment turned Jo’s not-quite-sneer into a full blown run for the hills sort of look. 

“Provincial? I learned the hard way, from listening to my Bubbe read poetry and stories in the only language she knows. Let me guess, you had a German nanny? Took 12 years of it during school? Maybe an AP test or two? Bet you even studied abroad. Berlin. No, you’re too hipster for that. You probably ended up somewhere like Wurzberg.” 

Daria tried really hard not to laugh at Jo’s use of the word Bubbe, but failed a little bit. The disdain hovered in the air and Daria realized her mistake.

Feeling breathless but certainly not ready to back down from this, Daria grit her teeth and responded “Mainz. At Middlebury.”

“Shocking” That sneer. Daria had honestly never wanted to punch a person, but this girl deserved a right hook to the mouth. If only Daria had any idea how to throw a punch. 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course I studied abroad. I was a German Literature student! What self respecting German Literature student wouldn’t study abroad if the opportunity presented itself?” 

She realized she was standing with her face about 8 inches from the anomaly’s face, so she backed up. That’s when she realized they were alone. She had lost her chance to talk to her professor. Again. She once again considered punching this girl square in her perfect mouth.

“Ok, this conversation is making me thirsty. I’m going to ask you one more time, Ari. Do you want to come to the bar with me? It’s literally 25 steps that way.” Jo turned, but Daria caught her by the elbow to spin her back around. She was apparently just spoiling for a fight on her first day in graduate school. This bode incredibly well for the next however many years.

“Daria. My name is Daria.” She corrected Perfect Mouth Girl as she was herded, bodily, toward the small bar. She wanted to mind, but honestly she couldn’t take her eyes off this girl, as disconcerting as that thought was.

“I know. I heard you introduce yourself back there. But Ari seems fitting, so. I’m Jo, if you forgot.” 

Daria found herself flabbergasted by the fact that she was still standing next to Jo, but she needed a drink anyway, so allowed herself to be shoved over to the bar. She also apparently allowed herself to be given a nickname, even though she preferred her full name. Day of firsts, this one was. 

She figured at that particular moment, she might as well try to bond with this Josephine, since she worried she would be stuck at the party for a longer haul than originally expected. At least she was armed with wine. They made relatively pleasant conversation for a while, bickered about the nuances of the German language, and discussed the expectations of graduate school. 

Jo regaled Daria with experiences from her first two years in the anthropology department, including the “near oops” she had had with a fellow female graduate student. Daria wasn’t even sure what that meant, but filed it away to be examined ad-nauseam at a later moment. Then she allowed herself to be distracted by odd professorial fashion choices.

“So glad I went with Dr. Sink as my advisor. Look at Strayer! He looks like he walked straight out of a Jos. A Bank advertisement. Such a stiff. I wonder if he’s always like that or just overdressed for this mixer.”

“I don’t know,” replied a smirking Jo, “I think it would work. You have a similar vibe.”

“The shit is that supposed to mean?” Daria said, instantly offended. It was mind boggling how quickly Jo could rile her up. It was… _unnerving_. There was that word again. But when she looked over, Jo had replaced her sneer with a smile that bordered on approachable and made Daria want to step out of her comfort zone. Then Jo opened that reproachful mouth again.

“Ari. Have you… did you look in the mirror before you came here? You’re the head-to-toe fucking epitome of East Coast Business Casual.” 

“Right. Because what you wore is really fucking appropriate. I dress _well_. I do not dress stuffy. That man dresses like he’s awaiting a funeral or something. He is stuffy. I am not… stuffy.”

“Oh really?” Jo says, trailing her eyes down Daria’s dress, over her bare legs, down to the tips of her black pumps, and back up to her face. 

“My god, I can _hear_ you judging me!”

“If that’s what you think is happening, you’re not nearly as smart as you pretend to be.”

“I managed a 3.9 GPA at Harvard. I think I’m precisely as smart as I present myself.”

“That’s great, _Daria_. That means shit to me. Can we please get out of here now? Or is that not something that you were looking for?” 

Josephine Liebgott chose that moment to bite down on her perfect bottom lip and run it sideways through her teeth. The gesture should not have been sexy. It should have been crude, or at the very least uncouth. It definitely should not have sent tingles up Daria’s spine. 

Daria always assumed she was bisexual, or something along those lines, since there was really no more attraction to guys than there were to girls and vice versa. Sex with boys was nice, and she assumed sex with girls would also be nice, but she hadn’t really gotten around to much of either because getting a 3.9 at Harvard and getting into this program were pretty difficult and she had deemed them more important. 

Also, she felt like finding like-minded girls was akin to finding needles in haystacks in the kinds of places she grew up. So her sexuality became more of a manifesto: a collection of theories about what dynamics might work for her or what types of people would put up with her. But Jo was real in a way that Daria hadn’t been expecting, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

“You’re staring at me,” whispered Jo, barely above the din of music and mingling. Daria was, indeed, staring at Jo. She was desperately trying to catch up to where the conversation had turned from banter and vague offense to being invited home. The logistics were over her head, and she needed a minute to recalibrate. God, she hated human interactions sometimes. They were so much easier to read about. Thankfully, Jo cut her off before she could say anything incriminating.

“Ok, rich girl, I’m going to leave and walk out to my car and drive back to my apartment now because this party is crap. You can follow me to my car and come with, or you can continue to stand here looking like a fucking carp. I genuinely don’t care, but make a decision quick.” 

And then Josephine Fucking Liebgott, _whose last name was not lost on Daria_ , literally turned around and walked away, leaving Daria staring at her back. She did not turn back around. 

“Jesus Christ.” Daria didn’t remember making a decision, but she found herself leaning onto the balls of her feet and chasing after Jo. She made it to Jo’s car just as she was unlocking the doors and may have leapt into the passenger seat with the desperation of a bank robber leaving the scene of the crime. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, which she would blame on the sprint across the quad and not the situation she suddenly found herself in. As Jo started the car, Daria felt every last ounce of confidence she’d had during the party physically leave her body. _Holy fuck what do I do now?_ She looked sideways at the beautifully, confidently disheveled woman driving the car and had no earthly idea what to say.

“You okay?” Jo asked, glancing over with a look like she knew she wouldn’t get a straight answer.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, but I’ll let you ruminate until we get to my apartment.” Daria nodded thankfully and stared out the window. She had the sneaking suspicion that Jo had just figured her out, and decided she should prepare for the reckoning.

The moment they stepped into Jo’s apartment, Jo opened with the one question Daria had been dreading for the entire 17 minute car ride. It looked like it physically pained Jo to get the next words out. “I hate that I have to ask this question right now,” Jo muttered almost to herself with her face toward the ceiling, “but have you actually been with a woman before?”

There it was, in giant blinking letters. Daria was really hoping she’d be able to fake her way through this like she did with almost everything else because people were stupid and didn’t bother to pay too much attention. Of course this girl would pay attention. Fuck.

“Not exactly, no. Haven’t really had the chance?” At that revelation, she could see Jo physically trying to rein in her anger, which should have been scary, maybe, but really it was just… hot. Everything about this girl was hot. It would have made Daria angry if she wasn’t so turned on. 

“Fine, that’s fine. I’m not going to fuck you tonight, if that’s the case, but we can make out if you still want to.”

“Yes please.” _Yes please? Is this actually happening? Are they… negotiating this?_ They were, and she had caved without even putting up a fight. Daria debated trying to go back and negotiate some heavy petting, but the words didn’t come, so she figured maybe this would be enough. Maybe anything else would be too much. 

Maybe Josephine Fucking Liebgott knew more about what was good for Daria Webster than she did herself. It might be the first time someone was correct in thinking they knew better than her. The fact that she was the subject in question rankled.

“Yea? You sure, princess?” Smirk. Daria supposed for a moment that she might actually kind of hate this girl’s haughty, contrary nature, and that this little incident might be a terrible idea, but then her head started to move in a vertical motion instead of a horizontal one. 

Daria was halfway through the nod when Jo slid her hand under the hair at the back of Daria’s neck and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Jo’s lips were soft but surprisingly strong, and she was immediately sucked under. She slid her hands around Jo’s waist, pressed them together from shoulder to knee, and let whatever this was happen.

“Fuck” was the only thing Jo said when they came up for air, before she dove back in. Daria decided that that just about covered it, too far gone on this sexual quandary to do anything but slide her arms up, wrap them around Jo’s shoulders, and hope it didn’t end too soon.

Jo backed up until she was leaning against the arm of the couch and slid a leg between Daria’s thighs. The feel of Jo’s jeans on Daria’s bare legs seemed new even though she definitely had been in similar situations before, but her nerves felt so raw right then that she worried she might actually explode. She tried to slide her legs together but Jo’s thigh was unyielding, and all she got for her efforts was a moan from Jo. _I’ll consider that a win_ , Daria thought, as her hips moved against Jo’s. 

Jo’s hands were soft on her face and upper thigh, but there were a few calluses on a few of her knuckles. Daria made a mental note to ask where she got them when she had regained her ability to speak, and then closed her eyes and went back to exploring Jo’s mouth with her tongue. 

Jo tasted divine: red wine, cigarettes, and disdain mixed with the remnant of those little chocolates from the party.

Then Daria tried to get even closer, because the texture of this girl’s jeans was doing something to the butterflies in her stomach. Balancing on the arm of the couch was, objectively, a fucking terrible idea. Maybe Daria really wasn't as smart as she made herself out to be, because here she was hiking up her dress and putting one knee and then the other on the arm of the chair, trying to climb further into Jo’s lap so she could get just a little more friction on her skin. 

When Jo moved her hands from Ari’s neck to her ass and pulled her farther up, their precarious balance was upended and they tumbled back onto the couch. Now, according to Daria’s hips, not to mention the other important places below her waist, this made for a much better angle, but Jo suddenly pulled away. 

“I think we should order you an Uber. Otherwise we’re going to take this too far and I don’t really feel like doing the awkward morning shuffle with a brand new grad student. It’s only the first week.” 

Daria’s cheeks warmed at the implication in Jo’s statement. She realized this girl could probably smell the desperation on her skin, and it made Daria want to run. Point for Jo, she supposed, for making it happen.

“Oh. Okay, that makes sense. I’ll just… go.” Daria stumbled off the couch and grabbed her bag, making sure she had her keys and cellphone, and then navigated toward the door while still looking at her phone, mostly to avoid having to look at Jo’s face. 

She didn’t want to see that smug look again. Didn’t want to feel like somehow she had lost a battle she didn’t know she was fighting. She just wanted to leave. Being caught with her skirt around her waist (even though it never left mid thigh) on her third fucking day of graduate school suddenly went from incredibly erotic to horribly embarrassing and childish. 

“The Uber will be here in a minute, so I’m just going to go. It was nice meeting you Josephine. Have a good night.”

“Yea, good night Ari,” Jo said from her reacquired perch on the arm of the couch. She feigned unaffected better than most of the Upper East Side. Daria laughed internally. Her parents would be jealous. 

“Name’s still Daria.” She said as she shut the door lightly even though she really wanted to fucking slam it. Her upbringing had ingrained itself enough that she pulled slowly until the latch clicked. The sound triggered something, and she had to force herself not to cry as she felt her world shift a fraction off its axis, but keep spinning. 

It felt like that moment in Quarters when the coin’s spin tipped ever-so-slightly off center and it became impossible to catch it straight. That point in the game when it would dawn on her that she was going to get hurt. In that game, it was a nick on her knuckles; in this one, she was the quarter and she wasn’t sure what to make of that. She took a deep breath and made her way out to the waiting Toyota Corolla.


	2. I've all but just forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo knew she should approach this situation with caution, because Ari really didn’t do anything wrong that night - Jo knew she was just nervous - and the stubborn jut of her chin was actually incredibly attractive, and honestly Jo still wanted to fucking know her. But cautious wasn’t part of her makeup.
> 
> This chapter is... not super exciting, but it's leading toward a lot of good plot, so stay with me if you're able to. Also, I'm sorry this took close to a month to post. I wanted to play around with Jo's perspective. Hopefully the next (Daria centered) chapter comes easier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, so many thanks go to @mariamegale and @gottapenny for all of their support and love and everything. These women are TOP NOTCH.

Josephine Liebgott hated feeling angry, but found it happened more often than not. That day she was angry because her lab assistant fucked up her clay samples and set her back three days. She was also angry that her proposal was being stalled by the Institutional Fucking Shitty Ass Review Board. She just wanted to do three fucking interviews with the native population in the area to give depth to her analysis. That should not take a month of deliberation and three drafts of a consent form. In two different languages. Fuck.

On top of everything, she didn’t even remember to get the cute pretentious German Lit girl’s number. Not a big deal. She’d see Ari when she dropped by the German department for Walt’s class in October maybe. Jo had so fully fucked that one up it probably wouldn’t matter if she had her number anyway. She just… it just hadn’t felt right. She probably could’ve been nicer, though. 

It just really pissed her off. Daria Fucking Webster, as Jo had been calling her, had flirted with such confidence, and fucking run out to Jo’s car to leave with her, and then she’d turned into a meek little kitten, and then she had pounced on Jo like a starving person. The indecision had given her whiplash, and yet she proceeded. At least they didn’t get naked. That always seemed to leave too lasting an impression. 

Jo was still getting flak from the other archaeology students about that first year she fucked who then left the program two months later. She stood by the fact that the girl’s mother was ill, but the timing of taking her home post happy hour, finding out she had a boyfriend back home and subsequently straight up ignoring her, and then the girl leaving the entire program did seem more than just coincidental.

Jo looked up when Lew Nixon came in whistling some obnoxious tune. “Hey Jo. How go the samples?”

Jo did not appreciate his humor, as he was not one who ever had to worry about undergrads fucking with his clay samples. When she flashed him her murder eyes, he mimed zipping his lips and leaned against the door jam. 

Nixon was a few years older than Jo and a few years ahead of her in the department. He and his fiance, Dick, were on the socio-cultural side of the department. They were disgusting and attached at the fucking hip, but they always made Jo feel included. She thought maybe that was because Dick didn’t drink and Nix needed a partner in crime, but she wasn’t picky. They were good dudes. 

“Hey Nix, how did you and Dick end up together? I don’t think I’ve ever asked. Is it a good story?” Jo had no idea why that question came out of her mouth at that moment. She didn’t need to hear about their meet-cute.

“That’s random even for you, Jo. Anyway, we met at a conference during my previous masters program, and to answer your second question, no. I won’t lie, it was pretty terrible, and I’m lucky to this day that Dick stuck with it. Otherwise I’d be back at home in New Jersey with half a Masters degree behind me and no relationship to speak of outside of a love of whiskey, drunkenly trying to manage the family business. I’m sure you already know this, but that man is a saint.”

“Yea, That’s what I figured with the two of you.” Jo always assumed that Dick had done the majority of the heavy lifting when it came to the two of them getting together. Maybe Jo just needed that. Someone to save her. _Nah_ she thought, _I’ll just save my fucking self_. She looked back up when she realized Nix was still speaking.

“Dick Winters was put on this green Earth to save my ass, in all the important and mundane ways,” Lew said a little wistfully, before looking back at her. “Did you want to come out tonight? We’re headed to happy hour. I might change things up and drink a margarita if the mood should strike.”

“It won’t”

“Nope, it won’t, but I’ll buy you one if you come with.”

“I’ll come, but if you’re not drinking fucking margaritas then neither am I.”

Jo didn’t consider herself a liar, but the margaritas really were too good and too cheap to pass up. Besides, tequila made her a good kind of drunk, and that’s what she needed today. Whiskey made her maudlin, and with the stress of the day and the fact that even three weeks later she couldn’t get Daria Fucking Webster out of her head, she was glad for the tequila and limes.

Jo was maybe three drinks in - or maybe five if a person wanted to count shots - when she turned to see the object of her anxiety breeze into the same fucking establishment. How dare she come in here and ruin Jo’s perfectly content hour with her favorite cohort of drunk anthropologists who were now making out in the booth across from her. Gross. 

“Holy shit. Nix can you stop sucking his face please?” Jo stage whispered while smacking at their shoulders. “She’s here. She’s fucking here. At this bar. Oh Jesus.”

“We were barely kissing, Jo. Come on, you know how Dick - wait. Who’s here?”

“The girl!” Jo was borderline shouting now. “The fucking girl from the party that you two stranded me at! I basically booted her out of my apartment mid-hookup without getting her number and now she’s fucking here!” 

Jo actually attempted to hide her face behind her shot of tequila. This was the last thing she needed today. When Ari’s eyes scanned the room, she passed briefly past Jo’s face, and then Jo watched as her eyes stopped their perusal to come directly back to her. They were suddenly making eye contact. And then Ari Webster darted her eyes down to the floor and turned around so quickly that Jo might’ve missed the entire scene if she weren’t blatantly staring.

It looked like she was with the Georgie girl from the English department and a group of guys that Jo didn’t know, and was laughing with one of them on her way to the bar. Had Jo forgotten how fucking beautiful Daria Fucking Webster was? If she had, she was starkly reminded as Ari whipped her hair around to glare once more at Jo before she turned toward the guy and the bartender. 

“Ouch, Jo. If looks could kill.” Nixon said from the other side of his tumbler. 

“So wait, do I know the story behind this? Because that girl did not look pleased to have seen you sitting here.” 

“No, Dick, you probably are not privy to this particular fuck up. At least not yet. Suffice it to say, I may not be welcome in the German department next month.” Jo rolled her eyes, as if her “refresher” in advanced German really did anything to prepare her for the onslaught of the language when she returned home to her grandparents. “You think I should go say hi?” 

“Oh, definitely. I would pay money for you to crash and burn right now,” Lew quipped.

Jo was about to make a quick retort, but Dick beat her to it. “Lew! Don’t disparage her! I think she should maybe go apologize for whatever trespasses I’m sure she made.” 

The smile on Dick’s face was two seconds from being smacked off when Lew’s laugh interrupted Jo’s seething. “Oh my god, Dick, that was brilliant. Maybe you should go apologize, Jo.”

“I don’t have anything to fucking apologize for! I took her home, we made out, and then she got all pissy when I said we should stop! I was fucking looking out for her!” Jo realized her voice may have raised when Georgie looked over from her spot at the bar. _Oh good, she looks pissed too._

At that, Georgie sidled up to Ari’s side, and the girls didn't spare the table another glance before taking their drinks and heading off to find the rest of their group. _Well that went well._

Jo wanted to follow, but thought maybe after that look and with the five - no, now six - drinks she’d consumed it might not have been the best of ideas. So she leaned back in her chair and kicked her legs up in between Dick and Nix. Nix grabbed an ankle in solidarity, and then leaned over it to give Dick one more kiss. They were, indeed, still gross. 

“Alright, I think this might be a good time for me to head home, seeing as this was supposed to be a happy hour and it’s turned into three and I actually have to get lab work done tomorrow. You both are terrible influences, and I hate you.” Josephine then stood up and stumbled her way to the bathroom to pee before grabbing an uber. 

As she was approaching the line to the bathroom, because lines outside the women’s bathroom at a bar were just a fact of fucking life at this point, she realized the last person in line was none other than Daria Fucking Webster. She considered banging a u-turn and just going home, but the fear of pissing her pants in the back of a cab outweighed the awkwardness of running into this girl.

“Hi” Jo said as she came up behind Ari and Georgie, who were obviously the types of girls to go to the bathroom together. 

“Oh. Hi” came the less angry and more resigned reply. Ari didn’t look pleased, but Jo could understand the sentiment. Maybe she’d get a chance to explain.

“Hey! Jo, right? Are you here with the wonder twins?” Georgie nodded toward the table where Dick and Nix were talking with their heads suspiciously close together while Nix regularly glanced over Dick’s shoulder in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Ah, yes. The department’s resident power couple has, indeed, graced us with their presence tonight. But I am actually about to head home. Feel free to go say hi, as they probably need a distraction from the disaster that is currently this conversation.” At that, Daria’s head snapped up and she glared directly into Jo’s eyes. Maybe she wouldn’t get a chance to explain.

“What disaster? We’re literally just waiting for the ladies room in a bar. Unless I’m missing something? Josephine, is there something you need to tell me? Or is the fact that you kicked me out of your apartment after driving me there and then ghosted me for three weeks enough to make this situation awkward to your friends? Please. Enlighten me.” 

“Holy shit,” Georgie breathed, before awkwardly patting Ari’s and Jo’s shoulders and hightailing it back to her group of friends.

“Georgie, what the -” cried Ari, but she was already gone. Had already left her friend in the clutches of a person whom Jo assumed Ari had described as a horrible not quite one night stand. Ari’s jaw had been singlehandedly working out her aggression on her teeth for the last two minutes, but at the realization that her friend had well and truly left, Ari lashed out. She… stomped her foot petulantly and turned around, as if to ignore Jo.

“Princess, did you just… stomp your foot at me?” Jo couldn’t keep the smirk off her face. Not that she was really trying to. 

“I am merely trying to show my annoyance at this situation. I can’t believe she left me here by myself. What did she think that would accomplish? It’s not like I’m going to embarrass myself again. I wouldn’t dare.” Ari tilted her head up in an absolutely obnoxious manner befitting her station in life. _Do you realize how fucking pretentious she looked like that?_

Ari’s eyes suddenly got wider. “I do _not_ look pretentious!”

“Holy shit I said that out loud?” Jo was definitely too drunk for this conversation, but at that point she wasn’t sure there was any getting out of it. Also, she wasn’t sure what Ari meant by not embarrassing herself. Her mind kept rolling over those words like they meant something but the tequila wouldn’t let it stick.

Jo knew she should approach this situation with caution, because Ari really didn’t do anything wrong that night - Jo knew she was just nervous - and the stubborn jut of her chin was actually incredibly attractive, and honestly Jo still wanted to fucking know her. But cautious wasn’t part of her makeup. 

“Look, I didn’t want to fuck you that night because I was looking out for you. You’ve never been with a woman, and it seemed too early for regrets. Plus, I’ll pass on being a fucking experiment.” Jo hoped her shrug looked unaffected. Because she was fucking unaffected by this conversation. 

“Experiment? You wouldn’t have been an experiment! I’m actually quite sure about my own sexuality, even if I haven’t had any experience with it. It’s so unfair that my sexuality gets shit on. Bisexuality isn’t like a - a fucking - undecided major! And it certainly isn’t a stop on the way to something else. I’m a fucking grown up, I think I should know. You know that whole line of reasoning is absurd!” 

Jo understood the reasoning, and the precarious position that a lot of bisexuals found themselves in. Sure, it was unfair, but after the girl in her cohort with the fiance back home and the handful of other _this was great but I miss a more masculine energy_ chicks, she just didn’t have the patience. 

“I just think we should try things before we make them a part of our identity is all.” That didn’t fucking come out right. God damnit, six drinks was apparently too many. 

“So you’re saying because I haven’t had the chance to get naked with a girl, I’m clearly not bisexual? Do you realize how fucked up you sound right now?”

“That’s not… that’s not what I’m trying to say. I’m not trying to fucking belittle you. I know you’re not a child. Jesus Fuck, Ari. If you remember, more than nothing happened between us. I’m just trying to protect myself. I’m not ending up another little pet project for another barely bisexual pillow princess who will decide after two months that it really was just a phase!” Jo could feel her airways restrict after that one. Being dumped was terrible, but being someone’s afterthought made it so much worse. 

Jo didn’t know whether it was the words or her tone of voice, but Ari looked pretty fucking… hurt. The fire in her eyes that had sparked at the debate they’d started had died out, and Jo already missed it. Maybe that was her cue to just leave. Pissing in the fucking bushes would be better than continuing to stand here. 

But instead of letting it go, Ari took one last swing. “You know, it could’ve been so good. Shame. And my name isn’t fucking Ari.” 

With that, the beautiful Harvard girl with the jut to her chin and northeastern lilt to her vowels stepped out of line and marched back across the bar. Jo, not to be outdone, stomped back to her table, flagged down the waitress, and ordered another round of margaritas and four shots.

“Dick, I hope you’re okay carrying him back to bed, because this calls for a blackout.”

“That bad?” They replied at the same time.

“That fucking bad, my guys,” Jo said as she slammed back the first shot. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Daria’s saddened face as she slid back into the booth next to Georgie. At least she had some support. Jo felt bad for her outburst, but she really just didn’t know what to do with that girl. 

As she continued to watch, Georgie smiled, reached out her hand and knocked Ari’s chin up. Ari smiled back and laid her head on Georgie’s shoulder. The girl would be fine. Jo wasn’t worried she’d up and quit her department and go home or anything, but it turned out she was pretty fucking disappointed that she had, indeed, fucked that one up beyond repair. And she still had to pee really fucking bad. 

Two shots later, Jo finally made her way to the bathroom. “Nix, you’re coming with me this time.”

“Jo, I know I’m gay, but I’m still not allowed in your bathroom.”

“Fuck off, I just need backup.” Jo dragged Nix to the entrance to the bathroom and left him there. At least there were no further issues between the table and the stall in which she found herself. When she came back out, he was gone. 

Having finally made it to the bathroom, Jo felt much better, until she turned her head to catch Ari on the dancefloor in the back of the bar. For such a stuck up pretentious girl, she could move. Ari was currently crushed between Georgie and a tall, built guy with one hand around each of their necks. 

Jo understood that Ari was beautiful, but this was something else. This was _hot._ The three of them out on the tiny dance floor, moving like the rest of the world didn’t even exist, made Jo’s heart race in a not-wholly-uncomfortable way. Just when things got interesting, the merry band of misfits that were the rest of their friends joined in and the moment was ruined. Jo was relieved to finally be able to look away. This seemed as good a time as any to get the fuck out of this bar before she was privy to any more of Ari’s mind fucks. 

When she got back to the table, she was surprised to see her boys still laughing together at the table. “You guys are still fucking here?”

Nix gave her a solid side eye, but it was Dick that actually spoke. “Of course we are. You’ve had a weird night, so I’m going to drive you home and make sure you get into your apartment. Did you think we were going to leave you here?”

Yes. Jo did. She kind of assumed Nix and Dick would be gone when she got back to the table, considering she had no idea how long she’d been staring at Ari. Fuck, she would have considered leaving if her drunk friend had taken that long to come back from the bathroom at 10 on a Thursday. God but they were getting old. Only in graduate school did 25 feel old. “You guys ready to go? I’m fucking done for the night.”

Nix even let Jo ride shotgun all the way to her house, which was probably more so she wouldn’t puke in the backseat, but appreciated nonetheless. As they neared her house, she started to feel queasy, but instead of tequila, she projectile vomited words and feelings all over the dashboard. 

“I’m pretty sure I fucked that whole situation up. I just… she’s just so smart and pretty, you know? Like, I didn’t actually think she was going to come home with me, but then she jumped into my car. Nix. She _jumped_ into my car. She played so hot and cold. I don’t see how I would be blamed for assuming she maybe, I don’t know, had no idea what she fucking wanted!” 

At that outburst, Jo slammed her head against the headrest so hard she worried she broke it. She wished her hair was loose so she could pull it, but she took solace in picking the tear on her pants instead. 

When she finally made it back to her bed she felt like she had aged seven years since the morning. To think, tequila was supposed to make her a happy drunk. Lotta fucking good that did. As she drifted off, she couldn’t help but wonder what it would’ve been like to be on that dancefloor instead of Georgie from fucking Modern English Lit.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry for all the German?
> 
> "Bist du nicht schlau" - Well aren't you smart?  
> (this is probably a TERRIBLE translation, feel free to comment and correct it)
> 
> Von Goeth's "Du bist mein und bist so zierlich":
> 
> Du bist mein und bist so zierlich,  
> du bist mein und so manierlich,  
> aber etwas fehlt dir noch:  
> Küssest mit so spitzen Lippen,  
> wie die Tauben Wasser nippen;  
> allzu zierlich bist du doch.
> 
> (You’re mine and so dainty,  
> You’re mine and so mannerly,  
> Yet still though you lack something:  
> You kiss now with such pointed lips,  
> Like a dove, when drinking it sips:  
> You’re really too dainty a thing.)
> 
> Hein's "They Loved One Another"
> 
> Sie liebten sich beide, doch keiner  
> Wollt’ es dem andern gestehn;  
> Sie sahen sich an so feindlich,  
> Und wollten vor Liebe vergehn.  
> Sie trennten sich endlich und sah’n sich  
> Nur noch zuweilen im Traum;  
> Sie waren längst gestorben  
> Und wussten es selber kaum.
> 
> They loved one another, but neither  
> Wished to tell the other;  
> They gave each other such hostile looks,  
> Yet nearly died of love.  
> In the end they parted and saw  
> Each other but rarely in dreams.  
> They died so long ago  
> And hardly knew it themselves.


End file.
